


Curtains and Duvets and Bedskirts, Oh My!

by oh_johnny



Category: The Beatles
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 05:09:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4653591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_johnny/pseuds/oh_johnny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mix boredom and pot and curiousity and what do you get?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Curtains and Duvets and Bedskirts, Oh My!

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost of an old fic from the lj Beatlesslash comm

“Stop bloody pacing! It’s like sharing a room with a caged panther.”

“Sorry. Just bored. Bored bored bored. Nothing to bloody do. Nothing on the telly. Nothing to read. Nothing. Bored.”

“What are you trying to say, John? That you’re bored?”

“Git. Aren’t you? Cooped up in here. Can’t go anywhere. Just another bloody hotel room in another bloody city. Even the art on the walls is the bloody same. Think there’s some sort of warehouse full of hotel art? Nameless little men sitting at easels cranking out one after another. Now there’s a nightmare for a job.”

“You could have gone to the party.”

“And spend the night smiling at stupid bloody people? No thanks.”

“Yeah. Well, then, you’re stuck here with me.”

“Why didn’t you go?”

“Don’t know. Well, I do really. Jane called earlier and, you know, I just feel weird being all lovey-dovey on the phone to her and then going off with some other bird. Doesn’t seem right.”

“Not like you to let that bother you.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s just…she’s getting serious, you know? Talking about curtains and duvet covers. Did you know you can get skirts for beds?”

“Yeah. We’ve got ‘em. Daft.”

“Apparently they’re supposed to match the curtains or the neighbours will talk.”

John snorted a laugh, then plopped on the couch beside Paul. He lit a cigarette for Paul and another for himself.

“So, you serious about her?”

“I don’t know, John. She’s a lovely girl, but I don’t really see us spending the next fifty years together, arguing about the colour of the toothbrush holder and whether it matches the dustbin.”

They sat in silence for a while, smoking, then John got up and went over to the corner where they’d stowed their guitars.

“Play with me, Paul?”

Paul grinned, “Thanks for the offer, mate, but you’re not really my type. No offense, you know, very flattering and all, just I prefer ‘em with less of a five o’clock shadow.”

John laughed and held out Paul’s acoustic to him. 

“Well, I’m disappointed, of course, but I understand. Thanks for letting me down easy.”

“Any time, mate, any time.”

They sat and tuned the guitars then started to play. Snatches of songs, theirs and others, riffs they’d heard on the radio, each trying to outdo the other by playing something more difficult, more obscure each time. After about an hour they stopped to light a joint, the playing becoming increasingly less complicated as the drug mellowed them out. 

“Hey, Paul?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you see Brian tonight?”

“With that bloke? Yeah.”

“What do you think of that?”

Paul shrugged, “It turns him on, you know. Good for him.”

“You ever wonder about it?”

“What? Brian and some bloke? No.”

“No. I mean…why Brian’s like that.”

“Dunno. He just likes blokes. Fair enough.”

“But why, do you think?”

“I don’t know, John. Why do you like birds?”

“It’s not the same.”

“Sure it is. It’s all sex, isn’t it? Just…different. Why so concerned about this tonight?”

“I saw them, you know, kissing. They didn’t know anyone was there. I didn’t mean to, but I couldn’t move without them seeing me so I was stuck. And I saw them kiss.”

“And?”

“And it was the same. Like kissing a bird. And it made me wonder what it was like.”

“Oh. Well, you could always ask him.”

“Paul, I can’t do that, you know that. He’ll think I’m interested and we’ve just barely got that all settled.”

“Right. Well, I dunno then. Guess you’ll have to find someone else to try on.”

“Yeah. I thought of that. So, Paul…”

“Mm? What? Wait, you want to kiss me?”

“Well, who else? You won’t tell some reporter about it, and we’re friends, you know, and well, who else but a friend would do this?”

“Are you trying to tell me you’re queer, John? Because if you are, mate, that’s all very well, but I’m not.”

“Don’t be daft. I’m not queer, I’m just…curious. You know. What it’s like. Maybe it’s good. How will I know if I don’t try? C’mon, Paul. We’ll just put it down to the pot.”

“Yeah, but…well, how?”

“How what?”

“How do we kiss? I mean, are you the bird? Am I the bird? Do we cuddle up? Put our arms around each other? What?”

“It’s just one kiss, Paul. Neither of us will be the bird. It’s just you and me, John and Paul.”

Paul giggled, “Lennon and McCartney like you’ve never seen them before!”

“Yeah. Like that. Just us. So can I? Kiss you?”

“Yeah, John, I guess. Jesus, what you’ll do to stop being bored!”

John started to lean towards Paul, but the guitars were in the way. He moved them both to the floor, then moved in again. He put his arm along the back of the couch, turning so his body faced Paul. His arm slipped so it was lying across Paul’s shoulders instead of the couch. Paul started at the touch and stood up.

“Jesus, John. That was…weird. I felt like we were on a date and you were trying to cop a feel.”

John stood up to join him.

“Sorry, Paul, but I don’t know how else to do this.”

“Look, just stand there, okay. Just leave your hands out of it.”

John stood in front of Paul and started to lean in again. Paul, watching him, licked his lips nervously. John brushed Paul’s lips with his, quickly, feather light, then backed away.

“There,” he said, not meeting Paul’s eyes, “That wasn’t so bad.”

“Call that a kiss?” scoffed Paul, “I barely felt it.”

“Well, but you said it was weird.”

“I said it was weird feeling like we were on a date. If you’re going to kiss me then bloody kiss me properly. All this bloody build up for a peck like that? It’s like kissing me gram, and I don’t believe that’s how Brian was kissing his nancy-boy.”

”No, it wasn’t.”

“Then do what you bloody want to do, John. This is your chance, your only bloody chance, so you’d better take it.”

John moved back in then to kiss Paul again. His lips hovered for a second over Paul’s mouth, eyes opening to look at Paul, to make sure he really meant it. Then he kissed him. Their lips met and parted, John’s tongue slipping inside Paul’s mouth. He tasted pot and tobacco, scotch and coke, Paul’s tongue dancing with his. He moved his body closer to Paul’s, the kiss deepening as each man relaxed into it. His hands moved to Paul’s head, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling Paul harder against him.

Paul moaned softly, his arms wrapping around John, returning the kiss, the pressure of John’s body against his. He felt his body begin to respond, felt his hips begin to rock against John.

John broke the kiss suddenly, backing away from Paul, looking at him wildly. His eyes raked Paul’s body, noting the bulge in Paul’s jeans which matched the one in his own.

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat to get the word out properly.

“Yes. Well,” returned Paul.

“That was…”

“Yeah.”

“Right then. Now we know.”

“Now we know.”

John turned away to light a cigarette.

“Bed skirts, you say?”

“Mm. With ruffles. And flowers.”

“Ah, lovely.”

“Yes. Lovely.”


End file.
